A River Enchanted: A Novel (Elements of Cadence Book 1)
A River Enchanted: Part 3 – Chapter 18

Part 3 – A Song for Wind

Sidra was in a dreamless sleep when she felt Graeme’s hand on her shoulder.

“Sidra, lass. Adaira is here for you.”

She roused in an instant, blinking as she sat upright. Graeme had given her his bed in the corner, while he had been sleeping on a pallet before the fire. Carefully, Sidra walked around the cluttered table to replace Adaira standing on the threshold.

Instantly, Sidra knew something was wrong. Adaira’s face was pale and lined with worry.

“What’s happened?” Sidra asked in a wavering voice.

“I need your help at the castle today,” Adaira said. “Get dressed and meet me in the yard. Bring your herbs.”

Sidra nodded, rushing to don her clothes behind the wooden dressing panel. She drew on the same skirt and bodice she had worn the day before, and she noticed her hands were trembling as she knotted her boots.

“Here, lass,” Graeme said on her way out, handing her an oatcake wrapped in cloth as well as her basket of healing supplies. “If you stay at the castle tonight, send word and let me know.”

“I will, Da,” Sidra agreed, thanking him for the breakfast as she walked out the door.

Adaira and two of her guards were waiting on the road, mounted on horses. Sidra approached Adaira and hauled herself up into the saddle behind her. It was awkward with her basket, but Sidra held it close to her side, her other arm wrapping around Adaira’s slender waist.

“What’s happened?” she asked again. Her first thought was that Adaira’s father was about to die, and Sidra sought to prepare herself for that moment.

“I’ll tell you when we reach Sloane,” Adaira replied, urging her horse onward.

The ride to the city felt unbearably long. Sidra’s mind was laden with worry when they reached the courtyard. Adaira helped her down to the cobblestones, and she helplessly looked for Torin. There was no sign of him as Sidra followed Adaira into the hall and down winding corridors, eventually coming to a small private chamber where they could talk.

Sidra stood in a slant of morning light, watching as Adaira poured them each a knuckle of whiskey.

“What’s this about, Adi?” she asked, warily accepting the glass.

“Drink,” Adaira replied. “You’re going to need it.”

Sidra didn’t often partake of whiskey, but she tossed back the burning liquid. Her sight felt sharper, her hearing keener as she swallowed. She winced and set her gaze on Adaira, expectant.

Adaira held her stare, her blue eyes bloodshot. “Eliza Elliott was found early this morning.”

Sidra startled. It felt like the ground quaked beneath her feet as she whispered, “Where?”

She listened as Adaira told her of the raid, the burning croft, and Eliza’s miraculous return. She paced the small chamber, overwhelmed and full of questions that wanted to burst out of her.

“I think the lasses are in the west, Sidra,” Adaira finally concluded. “I think the Breccans have somehow figured out a way to cross the clan line without Torin’s knowledge, and they have been stealing our girls, one by one.”

Sidra halted. The thought of Maisie being held in the west turned her blood to ice. But it made sense, as if the last piece of a puzzle had snapped into place. “It’s why we can’t replace the lasses here in the east, isn’t it? They’ve been with the Breccans the entire time.”

Adaira nodded. “And I think the Breccans are harnessing the power of the Orenna flower to accomplish this. Perhaps the flower grants them the ability to cross over undetected.”

Sidra rubbed the ache in her brow. “You still have the flower I gave you?”

“Yes, although I am afraid to consume it and test this theory, as it is the only one we have and my presumption could be false.”

“What does Torin think?”

Adaira hesitated a beat. “I’m not sure yet. But he did mention something odd to Jack during the raid. Torin felt only five Breccans crossing the clan line, but Jack counted twice as many, riding past the valley by Mirin’s croft. It’s apparent that they have some secret way of crossing over now. Five of them drew the watchmen, the guard, and Torin to the Elliotts’, while the rest of them clandestinely crossed farther down the territory boundary and dropped Eliza off.”

Sidra felt a strange tug in her chest to think that the enchantment in Torin’s scar might have been fooling him.

“The raid last night was a power play, but I also believe it was a diversion,” Adaira continued. “The Breccans used it to send one of the lasses back home to us.”

“Why would they reveal their hand?” Sidra asked. “Why not stay silent and continue to steal our girls? Why are they taking our children to begin with?”

Adaira sighed, as if she had been haunted by these very thoughts all morning. “I’m not sure, but I think it’s a clear sign that the Breccans don’t want peace. They want me to strike back and incite a war. I have no choice but to prepare for it now, although I must be very careful. I don’t have irrefutable proof they have the lasses, even though Eliza’s appearance after the raid is remarkable. I need to procure proof another way, and then I think we will need to get the girls safely home before any sort of open conflict happens.”

“Yes,” Sidra whispered. The safety of the girls was of the utmost importance. She didn’t dare to hope—it felt far too fragile these days—but she wanted to embrace the comfort of Maisie returning home soon. The vision nearly brought Sidra to her knees, and she blinked it away before her emotions could overtake her. “What do you need me to do, Adi?”

“I need you to first examine Eliza,” Adaira replied. “She returned home with ribbons in her hair and not a speck of dirt on her clothes. By all appearances, it seems as if she’s been well looked after, but I need you to confirm she hasn’t been abused or mistreated. She’s also unable to answer any questions about who took her or where she’s been the past few weeks, which would be a tremendous help to us if she eventually felt safe enough to talk about it. But I want her needs to come first, and I hope you can help me realize what they are.”

Sidra was silent. She rarely had to examine a child for abuse, although it occasionally did happen. It always made her feel sick, and she had to reach out and support herself on the wall.

“Sid?” Adaira whispered, coming to her.

Sidra released a deep breath. She closed her eyes and centered herself, and when she met Adaira’s concerned gaze again, she nodded. “I will do this for you. Take me to Eliza.”

“I don’t know what to do, Jack,” Adaira confessed. She was pacing her chambers, waiting while Sidra examined Eliza. It seemed like everything she had been planning, everything she had been working toward, was crumbling in her hands.

“Come and eat something, Adaira,” Jack replied. He was sitting by the hearth, where he had called up a tea tray for them. “You can’t maintain your strength if you don’t feed yourself.”

She knew Jack was right, but her stomach was wound in a knot, wondering what Eliza had been through. Wondering where the other lasses were.

She tried to take a bite of a scone but set it back down and resumed her restless pacing. “If they harmed this child … the Breccans will wish they had never been born. I will teach them not to steal lasses. I will burn the west into ashes. I will raze it to the ground.”

Jack rose and stood before her. She knew she sounded like Torin. Her cousin who was missing. The captain of the guard, whose reluctance to trust the Breccans had been well founded all along. It only made her temper flare brighter until she felt Jack’s cold hands frame her face.

“We still need proof it’s them. But there are two things we can do at the moment, Adaira,” he said in a calm voice. “The first? You should write to Moray Breccan. Don’t say a word about Eliza, but give him an ultimatum. Tell him that you will grant him one day to return what his clan has stolen from us, or else the future of the trade and your visit is forfeit. Make no declarations of war yet. The second? I’m composing a ballad for the spirits of the wind. I believe I can have it completed very soon, if I spend most of my hours devoted to it.”

Adaira studied him. Her heart was pounding in excitement as well as fear as she listened to his suggestions. “I don’t want you to play for the wind, Jack.”

He frowned, his hands falling away from her. “Why not? They are the most powerful of the spirits. They have sealed the mouths of the earth and the water. They have no doubt seen where the west is holding the girls. If I summon them, they could give us the confirmation we need to replace and bring the lasses home.”

Adaira sighed. “I don’t want you to play because it drains your health.”

“And yet this is why you called me home, Adaira,” he said gently. “We are so close to solving this mystery. Please use me and my gift to replace the answers you need.”

She felt torn, though she knew he was right.

A knock sounded on the door. Adaira was relieved to see it was Sidra, returning from the examination.

“How is Eliza?” she asked.

“From what I can tell,” Sidra began, “she suffered no physical trauma. She was gently looked after, well fed, and rested during her time away. But her inability to speak about what happened tells me that she is afraid, and that someone threatened her to stay silent.”

“What can we do for her to make her feel safe again?” Adaira asked.

“Keeping her with her family for now,” Sidra replied. “Ensuring life feels normal and secure for her, despite the fact they are residing in the castle and her home has been burned to the ground.”

“I’ll see to this,” Adaira replied. “Thank you.”

Sidra nodded and turned to go. Jack glanced at Adaira; she could read his eyes, the way they gleamed in warning.

“Sid, wait,” Adaira said.

Sidra paused at the threshold.

“I need to tell you about Torin.”

“Yes, where is he?” Sidra asked. “I was hoping to speak with him this morning.”

When Adaira hesitated, Jack spoke.

“We’re not certain where he is. He pursued the Breccans into the Aithwood during the raid.”

Sidra’s face blanched. “Do you think he was wounded? Or taken prisoner?”

“One of the watchmen claims to have seen him running from the forest on foot,” Adaira said. “But a fog was descending, which has made it very difficult to locate him. We believe he’s injured, and I have the guard combing the northern hills. I’ll let you know as soon as we replace him.”

“You should have told me he was missing the moment you saw me,” Sidra said. Adaira had never heard her speak with such ire in her voice, and it made her shame rise.

She had waited to tell Sidra because she needed the healer to give her whole focus to examining Eliza Elliott. But perhaps Adaira had erred. She felt as if she were making mistake after mistake, and she watched as Sidra left without another word, her throat narrow. Things were falling apart, and Adaira didn’t know how to hold everything together.

When Jack retreated to his chamber, to work on the ballad Adaira didn’t want him to sing, she finally sat at her desk and pulled out a sheet of parchment and a freshly cut quill.

She didn’t know if Moray had ordered the raid. There was the slight possibility that he had not, that perhaps a group of Breccans who opposed the trade agreement were responsible. But now that Adaira suspected the west had been stealing their girls, her heart was smoldering. She felt as if peace had been a naïve illusion.

Why would the west want our lasses?

She had no answer, other than briefly imagining that life beyond the clan line was far worse than she knew. Perhaps the Breccans’ daughters were dying. And yet why would they return Eliza?

Adaira dipped her quill into her inkwell. She wrote Moray an ultimatum.

Torin lay in a patch of moon thistle, half aware of where he was, of what he was doing. He blinked and tried to move, only to have his left arm respond with excruciating pain. Grimacing, he glanced down to look at his wounds.

There were two shallow cuts on his arm, oozing foul-smelling blood.

A small voice forged from years of training commanded him to get up. Get up and walk and get these wounds cleaned before they fester any worse. And yet he didn’t want to; he battled an overwhelming urge to remain hidden and safe. Nothing would come near a thistle patch. Nothing save for Adaira and damselflies and bees. He found a little humor in the sad thought.

So he lay there, among the thistles, blanketed by the morning fog.

It wasn’t long before he heard his name, carried on the wind.

“Captain Tamerlaine!”

He heard the call over and over, like a herd of cows. Torin pulled himself along the ground, deeper into the thistles, oblivious to the needles because more than anything, he didn’t want his guard to replace him like this. Like a coward who had run, who couldn’t even rise to his feet and clean his wounds and recover his sword, which he had dropped like a novice.

He lay there and prayed they would all go away. He pressed his face into the ground and gritted his teeth against the pain in his arm and tried to calm his mind, but he wondered how long the enchantment would fetter him. A day? Several days?

He needed to get up. Get up!

And then he saw her. She walked past the thistle patch, her dark hair catching his eye in the fog.

Sidra.

At once, he began to crawl to her, through the thistles. She hadn’t seen him. She was walking away, but her black hair was his marker in the mist—she was his refuge—and Torin dragged himself free from the thistles and up to his feet.

He swayed for a moment. The world spun and the fog was deceptive. He lost sight of her and felt the sting of his wounds again, the panic and the fear that had made him run. But that fear was nothing compared to what he felt when he parted his lips to call her name.

Sidra!

It rang in his mind, but no sound emerged from his mouth. Only a roaring silence.

He tried again, but his voice was lost. He couldn’t speak, and he realized what the first enchanted blade had done when it nicked his forearm.

He stumbled over a pile of loose stones. The sound of the falling rocks brought Sidra back around, and Torin watched as she reemerged from the fog. He watched her eyes widen the moment she saw him, ragged and desperate.

“Torin,” she breathed and stretched out her hand.

He couldn’t hold himself up. He leaned into her, a woman who didn’t reach his shoulder in height, and yet she steadied him.

And even as he pressed his face into her hair and wept, he could make no sound.